Sam Counted: A Death Counted Ficlet
by trueunbeliever
Summary: Entering the depths of The Pit to rescue his brother, Sam isn't prepared for the expanse of the battlefield. But he protects his brothers-in-arms and counts the angels that fall from his blade. Set in the Death Counted 'verse. COMPLETE. Please review :) All comments are welcome.


_**A/N: This is a "Death Counted" ficlet, taking place during Chapter 24: Opening the Gate. You have to read the first in the series to place this fic in context. Read on!**_

* * *

Sam Counted

* * *

Sam remembered his first.

The glowing white of its grace was no match for the blinding white of Hell around him. He'd had long enough to acclimate to the sight. The years he spent in The Pit, searching for his brother, were enough to grant him some amount of resistance against the ethereal essence of an angel's grace. They were immortal, but in this world, so was he. And fueled by the fire of saving his brother, not even the Host of Heaven would be able to strike him down.

The cold grace of the angel surrounded him, impossibly cooling the already chill air. A glint of—what was that? Steel?—caught his eye just a split second before it could pierce through him.

Sam froze for only a half-second as the blade came down again, attempting to dispatch him like so many of his fallen comrades. This angel was more than just something that stood between him and Dean. It had taken away his only companions, had ripped their souls apart with the same blade that was attacking him. It had killed the demons that had kept him warm throughout his search, the demons that had given him eyes as black as night so that he _could_ search.

Rage consumed him, and the next time the blade came close, he allowed it to pierce through his hand, gripping it tight and wrenching it from the angel.

_Impossible_, he felt the angel's word whispered through his soul.

"Not impossible," he growled. The blade burned his hand, but he ignored the pain. It was nothing he couldn't handle, nothing compared to walking into this godforsaken place of his own accord.

Shock colored the angel's grace as Sam speared it through with its own blade, tearing it apart in a stream of light that scattered dramatically into the cold white of Hell until it was gone.

"One," he said. "That was one."

_And there are hundreds left_.

"I know."

_You will never make it._

"I know."

_They will stop you at every turn, rip the soul from your body._

"I know."

_There is nothing you can do to stop them._

"I know."

_They are too powerful, even for you._

"I _know_, Nero. I know."

_What are you going to do about it?_

The question gave Sam pause.

_Knowledge is power. What are you going to do?_

Sam looked down at his bleeding hand, at the angelblade gripped tight in it. The answer was there, right on the tip of Sam's tongue.

_WHAT ARE YOU GOING TO DO?!_

"I'm going to stop them," he whispered.

_How?_

"I'm going to kill them."

The demon chuckled. _How?_

He held up his blade for the demon to examine. Smokey heat wrapped around his arm, soaking up the cold and replacing it with a much needed warmth that chased the chill away. "With this."

_Where did you get that?_

"The angel," Sam confided. "I took it from the angel."

_No demon can take a blade from an angel. _

"I can."

_And that is why you will be king._

* * *

Sam remembered his fifth.

Once word spread about an angelblade in the hands of a demon—Sam hadn't bothered to correct them—a swarm of demons had gathered around him, rallying together to fight with him. He had four angels under his belt and three angelblades in his possession. As a reward for helping him through the first fight, Nero now had one, and they fought side by side.

The brightness of the angel's grace was diminished by the stark contrast of Nero's soul, two angelblades snaking out at each other, only to connect harmlessly.

_You will never win this war, angel-scum_.

_I have no need to win, only to complete my mission. It is God's will_.

The demon laughed as he struck again. _There is no God here. His will has no meaning._

But the laughter was soon gone from Sam's ears. The angel struck hard and fast, slipping through Nero's defense and scattering his soul into the blinding cold around them.

_God's will is everywhere_, the angel said.

Those were its last words.

* * *

Sam remembered his sixteenth.

_You cannot fail us now_.

"I'm sorry," he apologized, the angelblade slipping from his hands as blood coursed down his arm.

_We cannot hold against the angels_. _You gave your word._

Sam despaired. Even with the fatal wound, he couldn't imagine more pain than that of his demons falling one by one at the hands of the cruel cold essence of the Godly angels that had laid siege to the depths of Hell. They were here of their own accord, leading an assault against the unsuspecting demons, the ones that had been minding their own, living peacefully—as peacefully as one could in the abyss—just as they were intended to. They didn't deserve to die, not here.

The angels did, though. The demons were his brothers, had stuck with him through pain and suffering. They had allowed him to lead them, and had carried him in return. They gave him everything he needed to survive with no demand other than that he protect them as much as he was able. The least he could do was kill them all.

But now…

_You are dying_.

…he couldn't even protect himself from the deluge of grace around him.

_We are dying_.

It was the last statement that did it.

With the last of his energy, Sam grabbed his blade and struck out at the angel, catching it off guard just enough to create an opening. One stab, two, and the angel scattered away. _Sixteen. _But another took its place.

He watched what was sure to be his demise with surprised eyes as a demon came seemingly from nowhere to abolish it. "Thank… you," he said. Sam trembled with the effort of keeping himself alive, but he was grateful.

_Vine_, the demon introduced.

"Sam."

_My liege,_ the demon greeted. _You look as if you could use a touch of help._

Sam smiled at the understatement. "Just… a… touch."

* * *

Sam remembered his thirty-fourth.

"Vine!" he called. He could feel the heat of his brother-in-arms surrounding him in battle. The grace of the angels was overwhelming the closer he got to the depths of The Pit. "Send legions A and E to the rear. They'll be coming around."

_Yes, my liege_, the demon said.

Sam had already stopped correcting them. _Master_, they called him, _my liege._ It was an exercise in futility to convince them to quit. It had been so long that he could scarcely remember what he wanted them to call him anyway. _Sam_, he remembered. It was Sam.

"Seir!"

_Yes, Master?_

"Send the strike unit to take the angels. We need them alive."

The demon mumbled an affirmation and was gone.

"Raim! Set up a chamber. We're going to need it soon."

_Restraints?_

"Of course."

Sam could feel the demon's smile before he too was gone, and couldn't help but mimic it.

The first two angels were easily dispatched, his demons having practiced with the blades long enough to have the hang of them. Those did not count toward his tally. They were not taken by _his_ blade, so those kills belonged to his demons.

Sam stabbed through the resistant grace of an angel before it even registered his presence. _Thirty-two_. Three more angels—Sam mentally noted that he needed to reward Vine as well for his quick work—and they were through the barrier of angels that kept them from entering The Pits.

_We have captured two_.

"Give them to Raim. He'll know what to do."

_They are fading quickly, my liege._

Sam nodded and followed Vine across the large expanse of the monochrome battleground until they reached a pool of demons. The angels were still and scared beneath the flurry of black smoke holding them at bay. It was all too likely that they wouldn't be able to provide him with any useful information, but he could try.

Gripping his angelblade tight, Sam approached them, and with a flick of his wrist the demons scattered, leaving him alone with the angels.

"Hello," he said to them. No reason not to try civility before moving on to torture.

Neither angel spoke.

They didn't speak for a long time, not even when his blade tore strips of their grace from them, skinning them from the inside out—_thirty-three_. But when one did speak, it told him everything. It told him of a man in The Pits, a man fighting against his demons—as if any mere _man_ could hold against _his_ demons—a man who would hold against the end of the world.

_The Righteous Man_, they cried between screams of pain.

Sam smiled evilly through his grace-stained smile. He wanted to meet this man. _Thirty-four_.

All counting ceased at that moment, and Sam was content. He had a new mission. The angels would be stopped, and the _Righteous Man_ would be his.

* * *

_**A/N: Next Tuesday with bring another fic in the Death Counted series. Kudos and comment, Readers!**_


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